


Coral Green

by Adenil



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, Kinda, Lingerie, M/M, lingerie lumberjack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:43:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3404327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plaid button-ups and lacy underwear. A match made in heaven, according to Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coral Green

**Author's Note:**

> I think this was inspired by something on Tumblr, but I can't remember what. So, thanks anonymous memory for this idea.

The cross-dressing was almost incidental.

*

It happened like this:

One day Bruce opened the door to his closet and discovered almost every shirt had been replaced with plaid button-downs. Only his cheery yellow dress shirt was unscathed, but that was currently balled up in the laundry basket.

Bruce frowned into the closet. He shut the door. He snuck back through the bedroom and peered into the living room, where Clint was perched on the back of the couch absently flipping through cable channels.

“Clint,” Bruce started.

Clint glanced over his shoulder at him and Bruce was immediately suspicious. He just looked too innocent. “Yeah, babe?”

Bruce shook his head. “Never mind.”

He wore the yellow shirt and asked JARVIS to place an order for new clothes.

*

In general, Bruce was not a fan of underwear. He had fond memories of lounging around his apartment on days-off in nothing but boxers, but those days were over. It was hard enough finding stretchy pants, let alone underwear, and so he avoided them. Clint had never seemed to mind.

Still, sometimes he needed his movements to be a little less fluid, and so on the second day he opened his dresser drawer and frowned into it.

All of his boxers were gone. In their place was… Bruce leaned in for a better look and squinted, wondering where he’d left his glasses. Yes. Those were lacy underpants. Soft, coral green, and near see-through. He blinked and shuffled backwards, running a hand through his hair and finding his glasses on top of his head.

He slipped his glasses onto his nose and looked around the bedroom. He had no way of knowing how long his boxers had been missing, and so he carefully slid the dresser drawer shut and resolved not to think about it right then.

Clint was perched at the breakfast bar when he left the bedroom, resolutely munching a banana. More like mouthing at the banana, actually. Bruce frowned at him. Clint grinned. “Everything okay?”

Bruce answered by slipping between Clint’s legs and thumbing open the fly to Clint’s jeans. “You’re terrible,” he said.

“Yeah.” Clint’s grin was like a thousand-watt bulb. He pressed that grin to Bruce’s lips and laughed. “But you love me.”

Bruce couldn’t argue with that. Instead, he licked the taste of banana from Clint’s mouth and palmed him until he was hard and flushed red and Clint was moaning “Bruce, Babe, please,” against his lips.

He took Clint into his mouth—long and slick and yes and sucked him until the taste of banana was replaced with bitter-sweet salt.

*

At some point, Bruce realized he could no longer alternate between his one yellow shirt and his one t-shirt any longer. For one thing, he’d ripped through the yellow shirt on day four. For another, his t-shirt was black and way too small, so it always ended up on the floor ten seconds after Clint saw him in it.

“Clint,” he began one morning. Clint was leaning against the windowsill, gazing out over the fog-covered city. He looked back as Bruce spoke and Bruce was momentarily stunned by how blue and contemplative his eyes were.

“Yeah?” Clint asked. His voice was low and rough, and Bruce shivered.

He cleared his throat and held up his bounty: red-and-plaid button down in one hand, pale green lacy underwear in the other. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Clint glanced down at his hands, then back up. His slouchy-lean began to stiffen, so Bruce cut him off before he could get too tense.

“Because if you are,” Bruce said slowly. “I think I’m agreeable.”

Clint relaxed perceptively and affected a cocky grin. “Oh?” he asked.

Bruce nodded. “Oh.”

*

Bruce was…

Cold was not the right word. _Exposed_ , perhaps. He was about ninety-eight percent certain that the lacy underwear were actually _men’s_ , despite appearances. They certainly fit him perfectly, lying flat against his narrow hips and cupping him just as tightly as briefs would have. Somehow, that was not the problem.

It was when he added the plaid-button down shirt over top that he started to get nervous. It hung open over his torso, framing his hairy chest and leading the eye straight down to his crotch. It was almost too much, and when Bruce caught sight of himself in the mirror he felt a momentary flash of panic.

There was no way Clint would actually like this. Bruce wasn’t attractive enough to pull this off. His hair was wild atop his head; his legs were certainly too spindly to spare a second glance. But when Clint called out, “Get your green ass in here,” Bruce took a deep breath and did.

Clint sucked in a breath of his own when Bruce entered, and Bruce almost turned right back around to go hide in the closet. But he got distracted by the way Clint unfolded his long body from the bed and slouched over to him, his eyes roaming over Bruce lightning-fast, like he wanted to look everywhere at once and couldn’t settle on where to begin. “Oh, Bruce,” Clint sighed. “You’re perfect.”

“Really?” Bruce tried not to fidget as Clint drew close. “Lingerie-lumberjack really does it for you, hm?”

“Mm-hm,” Clint agreed. He finally drew close enough to slide his hands under Bruce’s shirt. He settled his blunt fingertips on sharp bone of Bruce’s hip, rubbing little circles there with his thumbs almost absently. His eyes were half-lidded, gazing down at Bruce like he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

Bruce reminded himself to take a breath just in time for Clint to lean in with a kiss and steal it away again.

Clint kissed him oh-so slowly, trailing his thumbs over the waist of his lacy briefs. His touch was so light and delicate that it made Bruce shiver and shift, twitching his hips forward in a desperate attempt at more contact. He parted his lips for Clint and Clint obliged by exploring the inside of his mouth, gentle and smooth.

Dimly, Bruce realized they were moving. Clint guided him backwards until he tapped against the closet door with a jarring thud. Bruce pulled away in surprise and Clint took advantage, bending his head to mouth along the juncture of Bruce’s neck and shoulder. He was still so soft—just tongue and lips; no teeth. He twirled the tip of his tongue into the bowl between Bruce’s collar bones and Bruce gasped.

“So you, um…” Bruce trailed off, distracted by Clint sliding his hands slowly up his body, lightly tickling at his ribs. “Uh,” he tried again. “This is...okay?”

Clint laughed into his chest. “Damn, Bruce. More than okay.”

Bruce tangled his hands in Clint’s hair and dragged him up for another kiss. He was done with soft. He shoved his tongue into Clint’s mouth and swallowed Clint’s shocked gasp. Bruce could feel hands on his chest, trailing through the hair there before scraping dull fingernails over his nipples. He arched, groaning, and Clint pressed him hard against the door and shoved his leg between his thighs.

“Ah, yes! That, do that.” Bruce let his head fall back against the door as Clint kissed his neck again. His hands were everywhere, hard and warm on his skin. Their hips slotted together as Clint began to rut against him, the rough slide of his jeans strangely heady.

“I like seeing you all dressed up,” Clint said to Bruce’s neck. His hands found the hem of Bruce’s lacy briefs and he trailed both thumbs under them lightly, just enough to have Bruce shivering for more. “Makes me want to do some crazy things.”

“You can,” Bruce said immediately. “Anything.”

“I wanna be…” Clint twisted one wrist to slide his hand completely under Bruce’s briefs and around back. His finger slipped out and he seemed to be searching, searching until he brushed the tip of one finger at Bruce’s hole.

“Oh, fuck,” Bruce said eloquently. Clint was all feather-light again, and it drove Bruce mad. He wanted that finger inside him, so he pushed back against Clint’s hand, then forward again to rub himself hard against Clint’s leg. “Clint, come on, touch me.”

Clint sucked a little mark into his neck. “I am.”

Bruce growled, annoyed. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Clint laughed. He pressed a little closer and rested the pad of his finger at Bruce’s entrance, just pressing, _pressing_ until Bruce keened.

“Come on, just—” He cut himself off and scrambled his hands over Clint’s back, tugging him forward desperately. “Do it, come on.”

“I wanna do it.” Clint sucked another mark onto his neck. “I wanna get you all wet and bothered until you’re begging me. What would you say, Bruce?”

“Please,” Bruce said instantly. “Clint, please. I need you, want you.”

Clint pressed a little harder, but still not _in_ , dammit. “I want you too, Babe. Wanna get you grinding down on my hand with your eyes all rolled back in your head from pleasure. ‘Till you’re slick and perfect and I can just slide right in and feel you all around me. All tight and wet and just, God, Bruce.” He was panting now against Bruce’s neck. “Do you know how amazing you look?”

“No, don’t, just…” Bruce tugged him closer, hugged him so their chests were mashed together. “Just do it.”

Clint managed to pull away from his octopus-grip enough to frown at him. He looked far too serious for where his finger was. “You are, you know.”

Bruce gave him a crazy look. “What?”

“Amazing.”

Bruce shut him up with a kiss, hot and heavy, mouths gliding together and teeth clacking. He tried to say things like, “Please,” and “don’t say that,” and “take me” but it all came out slurred and desperate as Clint slipped just the tip of his finger inside him.

He was too dry for Clint to get any further in. Bruce cast a hectic thought towards wondering where the lube was, but he was too busy kissing Clint to focus on it. Just the suggestion was enough, anyway. Just the idea of Clint laying him down and sliding one finger into him, slow and smooth. Wet, gentle. He’d take his time, Bruce knew. Clint was clearly in that kind of mood.

“Come on,” Bruce said and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. “Come on, please.”

Clint let out a torturous groan and pulled back. “I can’t when you’re dressed like this.”

“What?” Bruce asked, aghast. “I thought that was the whole point!”

Clint laughed again. He quirked his finger, a gentle reminder, and Bruce let his eyes slam shut at the thought of all the perfect things Clint could do to him. “Yeah, it is. But I want to keep you dressed like this for more than ten seconds.” He kissed at the stubble lining Bruce’s jaw. “In fact, you should dress like this all the time.”

“Well, someone took all my clothes, so…” He tried to glare at Clint, but assumed it probably came out heady and half-drunk on arousal.

“That person must’a been a genius.” Clint shoved his thigh against him more firmly, and that was astonishing, only no, it was terrible, because Clint pulled his hand away and left Bruce feeling bereft and empty.

“Clint…” Bruce whined.

“Hold on, hold on, let me look at you.” Clint kept moving _further_ _away_ , which was precisely the opposite of what Bruce wanted to happen. He pulled away until Bruce was standing by himself, cold and lonely, leaning heavily against the door.

Bruce panted into the open air and felt his hips twitch automatically. He opened his eyes just enough to see Clint gazing at him, appraising him. Clint’s eyes were dark and dangerous, but the pretty-pink flush to his cheeks ruined the effect somewhat. Bruce tried to look as enticing as possible as Clint slowly swept his gaze over him, moving from his chest down, tracing over his skin so hotly that Bruce could almost feel the burn. Clint finally settled on his cock, straining at the seams of his lacy briefs.

Clint licked his lips.

“Yeah,” Clint breathed.

Bruce barely had a chance to register what was going on before Clint had picked him up and swung back around to march towards the bed. Bruce knew he wasn’t small—he was barely smaller than Clint, but Clint was _strong_. He carried him bridal-style and laid him out on the bed like he was laying him on a silver platter, and Bruce gulped at the hungry look in his eyes.

He held very still as Clint looked at him, but he couldn’t resist looking back. Clint was flushed hot with arousal, jeans tented with his erection. His shirt was fit to burst at the seams, which wasn’t unusual, but it always took on a different light when Bruce realized that this insanely beautiful archer was for _him_.

“Oh, Clint,” Bruce said softly. “What are you waiting for?”

Clint blinked at the question, like he’d just realized he’d stalled. He leaned in and began to rearrange Bruce stoically. He pushed Bruce back until he was resting on his elbows, then carefully teased open his shirt until it was lying half-off his shoulders. His gaze was intent, searching, as he thumbed at Bruce’s nipples once, hard enough to get Bruce gasping. Then he slid his hands between Bruce’s legs and pushed them apart, spreading Bruce open. He directed Bruce to draw one knee up and let the other fall to the side, and Bruce had never felt this open and exposed and _good_ all at the same time.

“Yeah,” Clint said again. He crawled onto the bed and positioned himself between Bruce’s legs, gazing up at him. “This is…” he began.

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed. He was trapped in Clint’s loving gaze. “It is.”

He watched as Clint bowed his head and let out a hot puff of air over his straining erection. Clint molded his mouth around Bruce’s cock, breathing damp air through silk. Bruce could feel the gentle press of his lips, the tip of his tongue tracing a path up his length. Bruce let his head fall back against the pillow and gazed down his body at Clint.

Bruce brushed his hands through Clint’s hair, trying to urge him into action. But Clint just slowly licked at him through fabric, tiny motions that had Bruce shaking. “Come on,” Bruce heard someone say—oh, that was him. “Please, Clint, _please_.”

Clint flattened his tongue against Bruce and licked one long, slow swath up his length. From root-to-tip he went, leaving a wet trail in his wake and Bruce gasped. He tightened his grip on Clint’s head and tried to shove him down, demanding more pressure, more heat, more mouth.

“Yes,” Bruce said and when Clint retraced his path, licked down from the head of Bruce’s cock to his base, Bruce had to say it again. “Yes! Please, yes, Clint.”

It was all one word, one desperate attempt to communicate “yes,” and “good,” and “more” as Clint licked at him slowly, so slowly that Bruce could barely function. Clint mouthed him through his lacy briefs until Bruce’s hips were rolling up, then he spread his broad hands over Bruce’s hips and held him still. Held him down so he could just mouth and suckle at his cock and leave Bruce struggling and panting.

Clint wrapped his lips around the tip of Bruce’s cock and traced his tongue over his slit. Bruce could feel only wetness and silk and his skin was singing with desperation as Clint suckled at him with gentle reverence.

The briefs were soaked now, a hot mix of precome and saliva and Clint just kept licking him. Lapped at him like he was cream, each slow, inexorable pull driving warm pleasure down Bruce’s length to pool at the base of his spine, building and building until he could feel his balls tightening, his cock twitching and pulsing.

He was slurring. “Clint, Clint, I need—so close, so— _please_ , need you. Yes, yes,” as Clint sucked at his head again and that was enough. It rolled over him in a gentle rush and Bruce shook and shook and shook and his hands spasmed in Clint’s hair as he spilled out and stained his lacy underwear.

“Oh,” he said when the shaking stopped and the ceiling came into focus. “Clint, I…”

“Yeah.” Clint gazed up at him, bright blue eyes half-lidded and lustful. “God, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Bruce used his leverage to pull Clint up by the hair until their mouths fit together. He could taste a hint of himself on Clint’s tongue and it made him moan. He kissed Clint and Clint touched him all over. Rested his broad hands on Bruce’s ribs, and the swoop of his hip, the curve of his shoulder, his still-sensitive nipples. Bruce twitched under the onslaught, too strung out to press back into the contact, too desperate for more to pull away.

He sucked at the tip of Clint’s tongue and fumbled his hands down to open Clint’s pants. Clint shifted above him, easy and accommodating, until he could reach in and pull Clint free. He could feel Clint throbbing in his hand and he tightened his grip and gave a few awkward-at-that-angle strokes before giving up.

“Clint, Clint.” He managed to disentangle himself from Clint, but got distracted by how swollen and red Clint’s lips were. He pressed a few more kisses there before pulling away again. He tried to bat his eyelashes and hoped he didn’t look too ridiculous. “How do you want me?”

Clint groaned and buried his face in Bruce’s neck. “God, Bruce, I want…” He cut himself off with a clack of teeth.

Bruce trailed his hands over Clint’s broad shoulders, feeling the hard pull of muscle barely contained under the thin cotton t-shirt. “What you said earlier,” he whispered. “Could you do that?”

“Yeah, yes. Yes, Bruce.” Clint pressed a kiss into his neck, then one on his jaw, then one on his lips that was chaste and closed-mouthed. Clint shimmied off of him to dig through the side table.

Bruce took advantage of the lull and grabbed a pillow. He shoved it to the middle of the bed and rolled over top of it. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he shoved his underwear down just enough to expose his ass.

He watched as Clint turned back around, lube in hand, and gasped at the sight of him. “Fuck, Bruce.”

Bruce buried his head in the bedding, trying to hide his blush. “Okay?”

“Um, yeah it is.”

Bruce could feel Clint’s hand on his lower back, and then it smoothed down, petting at him and groping him. He heard the _snick_ of the bottle opening, then Clint carefully spread him open and brushed the pad of one finger at his entrance.

He went slow, too slow, an echo of earlier. But Bruce was mostly sated now, and so he let himself relax in increments as Clint spread slick all around his hole before sliding one long finger inside him, knuckle-by-knuckle, unhurried and tender.

Bruce wrapped his fingers up in the bedspread and kept his face pressed into the pillow as Clint let him get acclimated. It took a long time before Clint began to move, but when he did it was like heaven. He drew his finger almost out, until just the tip of it pressed inside him, then slowly slid back in. He kept at it, leisurely stretching Bruce out.

“You can, um.” Bruce took a deep breath. “I’m ready for more.”

“It’s not too much?” Clint asked, even as he pressed a second finger at Bruce’s hole and wiggled his way inside. “It’s good?”

“Good,” Bruce agreed. He sighed dreamily and shifted his legs a little further apart. His lacy underwear caught at his hips, and he felt his face flush even redder. “Do you want…?”

“Shh,” Clint soothed him. He pushed the hem of Bruce’s shirt up and planted tiny little kisses at the small of his back. “You’re so beautiful like this. You’re beautiful all the time, but when you let me just _look_ at you…” Clint trailed off.

Bruce couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he buried his face deeper into the pillow. He began to rock his hips in time with Clint’s motions. Clint kept his pace sedate. Bruce could feel the cool slick of more lube a moment later as Clint pressed a third finger inside him.

That was almost too much. Bruce felt so full. He twisted his hips again and shuddered out a moan at the intrusion. “I’m ready.”

“Okay,” Clint said, but he still kept playing with Bruce. He began to slide his fingers in and out, spreading them wide when he was all the way inside. “But maybe I want to watch you.”

“ _Clint_.”

“Maybe I just want to look at you.” Bruce could feel Clint’s hot breath on his spine as he panted. “Maybe I want to see you all open for me.”

“Clint, I’m _ready_.” He tried to shove back, to get more of Clint’s long, broad fingers inside him. “I need you. Come on, _please_.”

“Of course.” Clint pulled his fingers out, just as slowly as he’d done everything else. “Bruce, of course.”

Bruce couldn’t look. He kept his face pressed down and couldn’t swallow his moan as Clint held his cheeks apart with both hands and lined the tip of his cock up against his entrance. “Clint, do it, just do it, come on. I’m _ready_.”

Clint pushed in and God it was slow. Torturous. Bruce thought crazily that he might be stuck in this turtle-speed forever. Clint pressed inside him and filled him and filled him and, “Oh, God, _Clint_ _please_ ” until he was all the way inside and Bruce could feel the bite of Clint’s zipper and Clint shaking.

“T-tell me when,” Clint said.

“Now.” Bruce wiggled against him. He tried to shove back hard, but he had zero leverage. “Clint _now_.”

Clint rocked his hips back and oh _wow_ it wasn’t slow anymore.

“Fuck!” Bruce choked as Clint slammed into him. “Yes! Clint, please!”

He could feel Clint fold himself over, press his chest against Bruce’s back as Clint screwed into him with short, jerky movements. Their hips snapped together and Bruce just felt right and complete and taken as Clint panted against his neck and pumped into him.

“Beautiful, so beautiful. Amazing, perfect.” Clint seemed to have lost his mind. “So hot, Bruce. You’re so tight and just, oh my God. Can you. I can’t go too long.”

“Do it, do it.” Bruce squeezed around Clint and marveled at Clint’s gasping sob of pleasure. “Take me, please, Clint. Please.”

Clint shoved their hips together and dug his fingertips hard into Bruce’s hips, yanking him back as he went stiff and shaking. Bruce could feel him tense and gasp and just the thought of Clint coming, coming because of _him_ had Bruce muffling another moan into the pillow case.

They tangled together for quite a while, all quiet breathing and gentle sighs of contentment, until Clint shifted uncomfortably and rolled away to peel off his jeans. Bruce watched him kick them aside before reaching down to slide the green underwear off. He wrinkled his nose.

“These are...quite ruined,” he said.

Clint smirked at him. He pinched them from Bruce’s fingers and tossed them haphazardly away. “Totally worth it,” he said, but most of it got lost when he kissed Bruce.

“Mm,” Bruce agreed. Then, just in case Clint hadn’t gotten the picture, he kissed him again. “What’s next in that filthy mind of yours?”

“Well,” Clint said. “I’ve got a few ideas.”


End file.
